A New Kind of Nostalgia
by OxEyed
Summary: When Seto decides to retire from the world of professional dueling, Mokuba is troubled, but human lives don't all follow the same set of rules. Chibishipping: Mokuba x Yugi. For contest.


_A/N:_ If I recall, Mokuba's age is more-or-less five years younger than Seto, which would put him at about eleven or twelve during Battle City. This story takes place three or four years post-canon, putting Mokuba at about fifteen and Yugi and Kaiba at around twenty. Also there are references to Season 0 events, though it's been almost a year since I read that part of the manga or watched the anime, so it might not be incredibly accurate. Enjoy!

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**A New Kind of Nostalgia**

"Metaphors," Seto said. "Are for the weak-minded."

Mokuba couldn't help his smile. Seto had this way of cutting right to the truth while simultaneously missing the entire point. "This press release is for the general public, not your board of directors. If you want to be understood, then you have to dumb it down a little. Add a little color. If no one understands you, then you'll have made this speech for no reason."

"I'm _already_ making it for no reason."

Mokuba grinned and ignored his brother, who paced across the office to perch behind his desk, grumbling all the while. No matter how much Seto complained, they both knew Mokuba was right. The only reason Seto had asked Mokuba's opinion in the first place was so that his brother could reaffirm what he had already known. Still, his stubbornness was understandable. He didn't want to do this press release and he didn't want to change his speech to cater to the public. Pleasing people had always been Mokuba's job; it was Seto's to be the misunderstood genius.

In the public's eyes, anyway. Mokuba knew he was nearly as smart as his brother, and Seto could be charismatic if it suited him, but it had always been easier to present themselves as personas rather than people. People _understood_ stereotypes, and if they preferred to see the Kaibas as the cold-blooded egomaniac and his chipper sidekick brother, well, that's who they would get.

Mokuba crossed one leg over the other and watched Seto tap the his keyboard and frown, the skin between his eyes wrinkling the way it always did when he was focusing. The reading glasses the doctor had prescribed were nowhere to be seen, and Mokuba suspected that if he asked, Seto would claim that he'd 'misplaced' them. He'd already complained several times that the glasses pushed his hair into his eyes and impaired his vision more than improved it.

The truth, Mokuba suspected, was simply that Seto preferred to squint rather than to look weak in front of his employees. It was the same vanity that had him so flustered about this speech. It was difficult to cast words like "retirement" in a light that made the subject look powerful.

"Well, Mokuba, you're the one insisting on colorful language. You may as well tell me what metaphor I should be using."

Seto turned the computer around to face Mokuba and settled back into his chair, his expression taking on the beginnings of a smirk. Either he was stumped or he thought Mokuba could do a better job. Either option was reason enough to accept the challenge; Mokuba scooted his chair closer and studied the text.

The speech was vague, which was unusual for Seto, who favored concision and clarity. Mokuba had read the text several times already, but still had a hard time understanding Seto's argument. It had been the reason he'd suggested using a metaphor in the first place. It would have been easy enough to say that Seto was too busy for professional dueling—anyone could understand _that—_but instead Seto had merely stated that "certain conditions" had made him rethink his role as a world champion, and left it at that.

"Seto, your main reason for quitting—"

"Retiring."

"Sure, ok, retiring. But baseline: why are you retiring? What you have written here doesn't make any sense."

"Of course it makes sense. I don't need to duel. That's as clear as I can make it."

"Well, sure. But no one _needs_ to duel; it's a game. That's not a reason to quit."

"It's reason enough."

"Not to your fans. You're a world champion. You can't just quit because you don't feel like it."

"Yugi did."

Mokuba looked up then, surprised less at the news than at the flat tone of his brother's voice. News like that would normally make his brother angry, but Seto only looked calm. Beatific, even.

Obviously he had known for some time and chosen not to tell Mokuba. "I didn't hear anything about that."

"You shouldn't have. His press release is tomorrow."

Same as Seto's. "A joint announcement?"

"Better that than piggybacking his press. As irritating as it is, we'll get better reception if the decision appears cooperative."

"Oh, so now that you're _quitting_, you don't mind working with Yugi."

"I'm _retiring_, Mokuba. I'll still duel recreationally."

"Why? So you can lose to him in private?"

Seto's glare was significantly milder than the one Mokuba might have received a few years ago. But Mokuba met his brother's gaze, unashamed. He didn't care if Seto thought he was being flippant; Seto was the one treating his own legacy like a joke. You don't walk away from world-class reputation just because your rival is out of the game.

"Mokuba, don't take it out on me if you have a problem with _his _decision."

"I never said—"

"I know you didn't." For a moment Seto's expression softened, and Mokuba wondered if maybe he was overreacting. After all, Seto didn't seem _bothered_ about it. He was calm—disturbingly so. It was possible that he'd wanted to quit all along. The signs had been there; he hadn't participated in any tournaments unless Yugi was also participating, he hadn't organized his own tournament in months, and Mokuba couldn't remember the last time he saw Seto test out a new strategy. But of course his pride wouldn't have let him bow out before Yugi did. When he thought about it, Mokuba shouldn't have been as surprised as he felt.

Still, the news had left a bad taste in his mouth. "Did Yugi say why he was quitting?"

This time, Seto didn't correct his wording. "I hardly see why it matters."

"It's just, I can't imagine him _not_ dueling."

"You won't have to for much longer."

Mokuba looked for bitterness in Seto's smile and didn't find it. After a moment, Seto pulled the computer back to face him and studied the screen. "So. Metaphor?"

"…I don't know. Something about the laws of motion."

"Equal and opposite? Hardly seems appropriate for this scenario."

He was right, but Mokuba had lost his enthusiasm. "Symbiosis. Blacksmithing. Air pressure. God, Seto, it's not that hard to come up with one. Do it yourself."

"You seem upset."

"No shit."

Seto's frown was slightly stronger this time, but he still didn't launch into his usual "vulgarity is for those without vocabularies" lecture. "Maybe you should go home."

"I'm not a kid, Seto. You can't ground me."

"I'm not grounding you. I'm giving you the rest of the day off."

"I don't—"

"Mokuba." The tone in his voice was warning enough. "If you won't obey your brother, then at least obey your superior."

After a moment of silent struggle, Mokuba capitulated. It was impossible to argue with Seto once he'd made up his mind, and it's not like he didn't want to leave. He had his own things to do.

When he pulled himself out of his chair and gathered his backpack from where he'd dumped it on the couch—he had his own office, but he rarely used it for anything other than storage—he headed for the door.

"Mokuba." Seto didn't look up from his computer. "Would you prefer that I continue dueling competitively?"

The answer was easy, despite Mokuba's irritation. "I want you to do whatever you like doing, Seto. You know that."

When Seto finally did look up, Mokuba forced himself to crack a grin. "Anyhow, I bet dueling would get pretty boring without any good competition."

Seto's gaze swiftly returned back to the computer screen, but not before Mokuba saw him hide a grin of his own. "True."

Mokuba rested a hand on the doorknob, turned back one last time. "You can't work too late, okay, Seto? Remember to eat dinner this time."

"Hm. Give Yugi my regards."

It was annoying, how easily Seto could read Mokuba's intentions. But when Mokuba opened his mouth to protest, he saw the smile creeping around the corner of his brother's eyes, and he settled for an exaggerated sigh and a hasty exit. Whether Seto's decision to quit (retire) had been correct or not, it was a relief for Mokuba to see him so at ease. Still, he didn't like his overwhelming sensation that there was something going on that he didn't understand.

When the driver pulled up outside the company headquarters, Mokuba briefly considered going straight home, just to spite his brother, but he couldn't help it if Seto knew where Mokuba wanted to go before he did. He had a responsibility to talk to Yugi: if not about dueling, then just to welcome him home from his first year of university.

Yugi had been home for a week at least, but Mokuba hadn't been able to bring himself to visit thus far. He didn't feel enough like a friend to come by "just because", but he hadn't had any other viable reasons for coming, either. This upcoming press release was the perfect excuse.

The Kame Game Shop wasn't exactly on the other side of Domino City, but it certainly wasn't in the business district either, and the limousine stood out awkwardly as it pulled up to the curb.

Mokuba could see at once that the store was closed; the windows were dark and the streets empty. He shouldn't have been surprised; it was a late afternoon on a weekday. Once the after-school rush was over, they probably didn't get much business. Still he got out of the car and made his way up the sidewalk. He knew that the Mutos lived above the store. Closed or not, he had a good chance of finding Yugi there.

The trim around the door was peeling, the wood rough against his fingers as he tried the door. Locked, no surprise. There was a sign with store hours on the other side of the glass; according to it, the store should have still been open. An unscheduled closure like this meant no one was home.

"…Shit." With no around to hear him, swearing wasn't nearly as satisfying, but Mokuba still took the opportunity to make a casual run through his expansive vocabulary as he leaned around the entry arch to stare down the street. If he was younger, he might have hung around and waited to see if they would come home, but now that seemed vaguely stalkerish. He wasn't some middle-school kid with a crush.

Honestly, Mokuba had no reason for wanting to see Yugi as badly as he did. If he had needed to talk to him, he could have called. Hell, if he was _really_ invested in finding Yugi, he could have used the company satellite to track him down. Seto wouldn't even know.

Well yes, he probably would, but he wouldn't say anything. He never did.

The driver of the limo was discretely trying not to stare in Mokuba's direction. No doubt he was as confused as Mokuba felt. Whatever he decided to do, all his options involved leaving. Mokuba had no reason not to get back in the car.

Instead, he took another look at the doorway. He'd been here several times, but there had always been people here before. Without them, there was nothing to stop Mokuba from seeing the building itself.

At best, it was run-down. It was clear that Sugoroku Muto had cleaned up what he could, but he'd missed a lot: the windows were dirty, the paint coming off in patches, the sign faded. Well, he was old; no one could blame him for failing to keep the building maintained.

The roof, especially, was in bad shape, and Mokuba had stepped out into the sidewalk to get a better look at it, wondering if maybe he shouldn't send someone down to fix it, when the pound of shoes against pavement made him turn.

Yugi barreled the corner, nearly colliding with Mokuba, but managing to pull off a last-minute maneuver and skidding to a stop in front of him instead. His expression vacillated between confusion and joy, but he was so out of breath from running that he keeled over, panting, before Mokuba had a chance to determine the dominant emotion.

"—Mokuba?" His voice was ragged, but he wore a wide grin when he finally looked up. "I _thought_ that was a Kaiba Corp limo. How are you?"

"I'm good—" Suddenly Mokuba found himself hard pressed to explain just why he was there. Even his carefully crafted excuse sounded trite now. "Heard you were back in town. Thought I'd say hi."

"Yeah, flew in last week ago. Still getting over the jet lag, ahaha…" Yugi straightened and looked toward the limo, and Mokuba realized that somehow over the past year he'd overtaken Yugi in height. Not surprising: after all, Seto towered over _everyone_, but for some reason Mokuba had expected Yugi to grow taller, too. He hadn't, and the several growth spurts Mokuba had recently suffered were now proving their worth: Mokuba towered a good three inches over Yugi.

It was weird.

Yugi was still studying the limo warily, and Mokuba realized he must be looking for Seto. He was irritated despite himself. Did people expect him to follow his brother around for the rest of his life?

"My brother sends his regards."

At that, Yugi's gaze was torn away from the limo. "Oh?" His smile never faltered, but something about it seemed to ring false. "I guess that's good."

"Why?"

"Oh—" He waved a hand, as if to dismiss the question. Was he embarrassed? "Well, I don't know if he told you, but I'm retiring—"

"From dueling. I know."

Yugi looked startled, but if it was from Mokuba's words or from the way he said them, Mokuba wasn't sure.

"Ah, yes, well, professional dueling, at least. I think your brother might kill me if I gave it up altogether." Yugi laughed and spread out his arms. "He always looks so intimidating, you know? And he's so _tall—_"

Mokuba couldn't help laughing along. That's what he loved about Yugi. He didn't pretend that people weren't who they were—it wasn't so easy to joke about Seto killing you when he'd actually attempted it in the past—but Yugi never let that keep him from treating people as friends and equals. Seto, definitely, had benefited from it. "I'm pretty sure you have nothing to worry about. I think he's actually happy about it, for some reason."

Yugi lowered his arms. "Really?" His expression, if possible, brightened. "That's good."

He turned away, looking down the street, as Mokuba tried to figure out how to ask the question that had brought him to the Game Shop in the first place. But before he could open his mouth, Yugi stretched up onto his toes and waved at the figure rounding the corner. His grandfather. They must have been walking together when Yugi saw the limo and sprinted toward the person he thought was Seto.

Mokuba tried to sound casual. "Out for a walk?"

Yugi of all things, sounded apologetic. "Doctor's appointment. He has a bad back, you know. Had to close the store."

"Mokuba!" Now Yugi's grandfather was close enough to join the conversation.

"Hello, Mr. Muto." Mokuba held out a hand and Sugoroku put both of his hands around it, shaking vigorously enough to pull Mokuba down to his level.

"I haven't seen you at the store in months, my boy! Your brother keeping you busy?"

"You could say that." Just like his grandson. Forgiving Mokuba could understand, but it was as if he'd totally forgotten that the Kaibas had once tried to have him killed. But Mokuba followed the Muto's lead, and smiled. "How's business? I imagine you get a lot of tourism traffic."

"Oh sure, plenty. Everyone wants to see the birthplace of the world's top duelist." Sugoroku elbowed his grandson, who smiled painfully and looked away. "Now that's summer's started, business will really start booming."

Mokuba doubted it. There was only so much fame could do for a store like this. He turned to Yugi. "Are you helping out this summer?"

Yugi flushed, nodded. "Grandpa's out here by himself. Figured he could use the help."

"I can, I can. I'm an old man. Can't keep up with the demands of you kids today. Now if you'll excuse me—" Sugoroku winked and headed for the store, and Yugi took a hesitant half step after him, turning at the last minute to face Mokuba.

"You want to come in? Or do you have somewhere to be?"

Mokuba was tempted to decline; the question was clearly only asked out of politeness. But he had come here with an agenda. What would he tell Seto if he just up and left now? "I've got a few minutes."

The inside of the store was dark, but Yugi turned on the lights and began straightening the counter while his grandfather disappeared into what Mokuba knew was the residential section of the building.

"So Mokuba, Seto told me that you've been taking on more work at KaibaCorp. I guess it makes sense-aren't you legally the vice-president? But I always thought you'd wait till you finished high school…"

Yugi rambled as he cleaned, but he didn't seem nervous. Just friendly. He moved dreamily from one display to another, straightening signs, restocking boxes. He touched every item as if it were priceless, a concept Mokuba had grown unfamiliar with over the years. Everything has a price, Seto had always said. And if it's worth it, you can always pay it.

"Why won't you duel anymore?"

Yugi paused, his hands stretched over the glass counter. His wrists were slim. Like a girl's, Mokuba thought, and the leather bracelets only made them look smaller. It didn't matter how much older Yugi was. He would always look younger than his age.

"You're angry with me."

Mokuba hadn't quite thought of it that way until Yugi had said it, but yes, he recognized, he _was_ angry. He just didn't know why. "You're the best duelist in the world, and you're only, what? Twenty? You're at the prime of your career. You've got years—"

"Mokuba, I don't want to just be 'The King of Games' forever. That's not who I am."

"But you have to be!"

The words were out of Mokuba's mouth before he could stop them, and he stood stock-still, appalled, as Yugi looked up.

"Ah."

He said it as if it explained something, though Mokuba couldn't imagine what Yugi thought it meant. But there was no way Yugi could know what Mokuba was feeling.

"What?"

Yugi seemed unbothered by Mokuba's defensive tone. "Did Seto told you he was also retiring?"

"Of course he did—"

"Did he tell you why?"

Mokuba thought back to his conversation with his brother, what he'd read of the speech. The vague wording, as if it was tip-toeing around some larger truth. "He said he didn't _need_ to duel anymore."

"Did he?" Yugi relaxed, smiling a little. "That sounds like him."

"Are you saying he meant something else?"

Yugi's expression softened — the same way Seto's had — and he looked almost sympathetic as he leaned across the counter. "I don't know if you know this, Mokuba, but people change as they get older—"

"Oh, come on, Yugi. I'm not stupid."

"I'm not saying—"

"Yes, you are. You're treating me like a kid. I know what people are like. I know that people don't always do the same things their entire lives, and things change. I get it. You don't want to duel anymore. It's just…" Mokuba shrugged, helpless to explain his conviction that somehow, what Yugi and Seto were doing was, somehow, a betrayal. "I used to look up to you, you know?"

"Is that what you called it?"

Yugi's tone was gentle, not chiding, and he seemed almost amused as he rested his chin in his hand and smiled up at Mokuba. "I was always under the impression that you suffered more from infatuation than admiration."

"What? That's—" Mokuba felt his cheeks start to burn despite his protests. Why didn't people understand that he wasn't just some kid anymore? "That's ridiculous."

Yugi only shrugged. "It doesn't have to be." He put his hand down on the counter, ran his fingers over the glass. Under his hand Mokuba could see tray after tray of rare cards. Not nearly as rare as the ones he was used to seeing; he knew Seto owned multiple copies of every card in the store.

Yugi's hand paused over one tray: the Dark Magician. A finger tapped the glass thoughtfully, and he looked up, meeting Mokuba's gaze.

"You're more like your brother than you realize."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you like to hide your feelings with other feelings."

Mokuba's first impulse was to scoff, but that seemed like exactly the type of thing Seto would do, so instead he remained as impassive as he could. Still, he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Yugi didn't seem to notice. He straightened, glancing toward the door. "When we first met, you were really into this capsule game. What was it called? Capsule Monsters?"

"…Capmon. Why?"

"Do you want to play?"

"What?"

"I know we've got a set laying around somewhere. It could be fun. You know, for old time's sake." Yugi walked to the end of the counter, where he stopped, a hand still resting on the glass case. "You want to?"

Even if Mokuba still maintained a powerful fondness for the game, he wasn't about to play it. Not with Yugi. "I don't know. That's really a kid's game."

"Oh?" The pitch of Yugi's voice drops slightly; his disappointment obviously exaggerated. "Don't tell me you don't like it anymore."

"No, it's just—" Mokuba saw the corner of Yugi's mouth curling up and realized he was being teased. Yugi wasn't talking about the game at all.

He found himself approaching the counter, reaching out to scratch a fingernail along the metal casing. "I mean…of course I still like it. It's just, you know…_older_."

Yugi's voice was soft. "Not that old." His fingers curled around the glass, and he slid out from behind the counter to stand beside Mokuba, their shoulders barely touching as they stared down at the trays of cards.

"Yugi—"

"When I was younger, I loved playing games." Yugi's face was impassive; he didn't look up from the display case. "I still do. But it meant more back then. And I don't mean what was at stake. Just that they were an escape from things. They were a way to challenge people and concepts without actually having to suffer the consequences. But you can't play games forever. There are real people on the other side of that table, and real problems. No matter how much I love playing games, I can't make them my life. I think your brother feels the same way."

Mokuba knew Yugi was right. "…Yeah."

"Do you want to know why you were angry with me?"

"…Why?"

"Because you're a kid."

Before Mokuba could say anything, Yugi lifted a hand and rested it on Mokuba's shoulder. "Relax. That's not a bad thing."

Mokuba licked his lips, swallowed. "Why not?"

"When we get older, we stop noticing change. We think it's because we stop changing, but really it's just that we've gotten used to it. You notice, because you haven't changed so much. That's why you're here, right? You don't want things to change?"

Mokuba wanted to argue with Yugi, but he couldn't think of a single valid counterpoint, except maybe that Yugi hadn't lived _that_ much longer than Mokuba, but it was a weak point, and he didn't want to argue with Yugi anyway. His way of thinking was more comforting that the possibility that something was wrong. "So I guess you're going to tell me that change is good?"

Yugi smiled. "Sometimes. For example…" He leaned away from Mokuba, peering toward the clock on the wall. "You remember that time you made us play that Russian Roulette game? With the food?"

Even now, Mokuba felt the pinpricks of shame left over from that night. "Why would you bring that up?"

"Because I'm starving, it's dinnertime, I'm feeling nostalgic. You want to go get burgers?"

"What?"

Yugi was laughing. "You know, burgers. We could even invite your brother if you want, but I can't imagine him being the reminiscent type. You in?"

Mokuba shook his head, unable to shake the grin that spread across his face. "Not if all you remember is the embarrassing things I did."

"Oh, don't worry, I have plenty of my own stories, and they can be just as embarrassing. So what, you in?"

It was one of the easiest things in the world to be the target of Yugi's smiles, but that didn't stop Mokuba from looking forward to each one as if they were as rare as his brother's. "I'm in."

**End**

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****Blah blah read & review, or tell me how out of character everyone was (I've never written any of these characters, oops), or ignore my incoherent 4am ramblings, if you'd prefer. Thanks for reading!


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